


The Usual Order

by miss_eee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff with a side of angst, Post-High School, Second Chances, mild angst heavy fluff, sometimes smut happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-02 11:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_eee/pseuds/miss_eee
Summary: A story of the dreams that become reality and second chances that are given.Contains bagels, iced coffee and copious amounts of moving boxes. Not suitable for children of all ages.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This feels like a huge milestone for me, because not only is this the first fic I've written entirely from Jughead's POV, it's also the first fic I've written entirely before posting! 
> 
> I will gladly try to answer all of your questions about confusions or conspiracies you may have (diplomatically, of course)!
> 
> Always, beta love to @shrugheadjonesthethird, who I have decided may be more of an emotional person than I am, because she'll be the first to tell you this made her cry. (Ok, so I cried too....)

Before he’d even opened his eyes, he felt overcome with warmth. A warmth that often didn’t accompany him on the small cot he slept on in his office at the Whyte Wyrm. And then there was the instant ache all over his body: his legs, his arms, aching from an exertion he was sure he hadn’t done the day before. 

No, the day before had been fairly normal. He’d opened the bar around eleven in the morning, taken care of payroll and ordered supplies before the lunchtime rush began. Once Toni had arrived, he’d taken care of some errands in town, which had mainly consisted of begging Mayor McCoy for an extension on his rent. He’d stopped at Pop’s for dinner, his usual two burgers, fries, and vanilla milkshake, before returning to the bar to handle the late shift, jotting notes for his novel in between customers. It’d been after three by the time he’d closed and cleaned and finally collapsed on that cot he kept in his office. 

A completely normal, regular day. 

So why was he suddenly waking up so warm and achy?

His right arm had gone numb sometime in the night, but as he tried to stretch it, tried to shake some feeling back into it, he noticed the weight that was holding it down. 

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. 

His eyes shot open, immediately cringing back closed as the sunlight beamed in through a large window directly next to the bed he was currently lying in. A panic washed over him. There were no windows in his office at the Whyte Wyrm and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in an  _ actual _ bed. 

Fighting the urge to avoid the sunlight, he opened his eyes again, slowly taking in his surroundings. The room was bare, cardboard boxes scattered around the small room. The bed he was currently in seemed to be the only piece of furniture, but the soft grey sheets were enveloping and welcoming, begging him to ‘ _ stay here just a little longer’ _ . His eyes were fighting to stay open, the sun was too bright and the bed too warm and comforting, but he tugged again on his right arm, trying to release it from that weight. 

Something next to him stirred, and the weight on his arm released only to crash into his chest a moment later. 

“Juggie. Go back to sleep.”

_ Fuck.  _

He knew that voice from his dreams, and instantly his eyes shot open, his entire body fully awake. Blonde hair laid out, half across his chest and half across the pillow next to him, but he’d know that particular shade anywhere. He’d dreamed about that shade, that voice for longer than he cared to admit. 

He stretched his right arm, the tingling numbness had gone, and he curled it around to run his fingers through her hair. He felt her body sigh, pushing impossibly closer into his, every part of her seemed to be wrapped around him. His mind was reeling, trying to remember how in the world he’d ended up in Betty Cooper’s bed, but her warmth and the bed dragged him back to his dreams. If this was just a dream, just a horrible taunting dream, it felt too real and he wasn’t ready to wake up from it yet. 

He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d slept. How much longer she’d slept in his arms, cocooned around him, but he’d awoken rather suddenly to the feel of her lips on him. He sat up, nearly knocking her off the bed, but she simply giggled and gripped his thighs, readjusting herself to lay between them before she continued placing her lips down his stomach, slowly moving further down. 

  
“Betty…” His voice was raspy, fighting to protest her movements.

“Shhhh,” she released one hand from his hip, reaching up to place a finger across his lips. “Consider this payment for all the hard work you did yesterday…” Her voice trailed off, lost when she swallowed him once. 

He tried to focus on his confusion, the fact that he was positive he had not seen Betty Cooper the day before, had not in fact seen Betty Cooper in years, but she kept doing this thing with her tongue, flicking it along the tip before tracing it down his length. It’d been years since he’d been with a girl, years since anyone had done  _ this _ to him, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“Betty… “ He reached for her, but instead of releasing him, she shook her head, her green eyes darting up to stare into his. Every dream he’d had of her over the years, every memory, came rushing back to him all at once and it took everything in him not to thrust up into her mouth as he groaned, his shoulders arcing off the bed as he reached his completion. 

She crawled up, resting her body along the length of his, nuzzling her head under his chin. At some point, he’d closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, he was greeted with the sight of her lazily wiping her mouth, her eyes glazed as she stared back at him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her to him. Whatever dream this was, whatever world he’d woken up to, he fully planned on making the most of it. 

Lazily, they woke up, moving around the boxes that were scattered not only all over the bedroom but the entire apartment. They’d all been labeled and placed in the appropriate rooms, but nothing had been unpacked yet. It seemed as if they had only dropped the boxes, made the bed and fallen asleep. No wonder his body ached in a way he didn’t remember — this Jughead had spent the day before hauling boxes and furniture. He shuffled his way around until he found the bathroom, a small box labeled with his name that held toiletries — shampoo, body wash, a toothbrush. 

He stood in the shower, letting the hot water wash over him and his achy muscles, still unsure if this was a dream or some new life he’d woken up in. Sure, he’d dreamed of her plenty over the years, his high school sweetheart who’d moved away to New York after graduation, but he’d never dreamed of her like this, so domestically. Stepping out, he reached into the box marked  _ towels _ , wrapping one around him as he stood in front of the mirror. 

His face looked much the same as it had the day before, but the wrinkles around his eyes and the dark circles underneath weren’t as prominent. This Jughead seemed more well-rested than the Jughead of yesterday, maybe he even drank water and had a salad on occasion. He quickly dressed in a grey t-shirt and jeans he’d found in a box with his name on it, and then he made his way back into the living room where she sat curled on the seat in front of the large bay window.

“I didn’t unpack the kitchen yet, want to take a walk and find a bagel shop?” 

Her hand linked tightly in his as they walked down the sidewalk together, searching for a place to eat breakfast. She chattered away, pointing out the boutiques and market vendors as they walked, the small French bulldog being pushed in the baby carrier. He was sure he’d responded when appropriate, but mostly, his thoughts were on her. 

_ Betty Cooper.  _

She’d been Riverdale’s golden girl — smart, ambitious and quick-witted. They’d grown up together, alongside her next-door neighbor, Archie Andrews. As kids, the three of them had been inseparable, until the summer before their sophomore year. Betty had taken an internship in Los Angeles, Archie was trying out for football, and Jughead had spent most of his summer at Pop’s, writing a novel about their small town. The events of that summer, Jason Blossom’s murder, would change their friendship in ways none of them had ever expected. He was sure everyone else in town thought Betty would end up on the arm of Archie, but that fall, she’d started to fall for him, the heir to a motorcycle club. 

There was something almost twisted in the way her perfect pastels clashed with his black leather and maybe he knew, even then, that there was a timer on their relationship. That one day, New York would ding, calling her off to college and to a greater world than Riverdale, reminding him that he owned a motorcycle and stood to inherit a bar. He’d wanted to go with her, planned to go with her, but in the end, he was tied to Riverdale. Money and the club and his dad, and it just hadn’t been possible. They’d talked that maybe after a few years, maybe someday, but then over the years, they’d talked less and less. 

Her mom sold the house on Elm Street a few years after Betty moved and she’d stopped coming back on college breaks after that. The last time he’d seen her had been over Christmas five years ago. They’d acted like no time had passed, like they hadn’t promised each other to try to make things work and then proceed to break that promise. 

They’d fallen right back into each other’s arms, sneaking away from the annual toy drive at the Wyrm to his back office, locking the door and forgetting about the outside world. When they were together, those small stolen moments, it felt like they were in high school again, like they had the whole world and their whole lives ahead of them. And then, her mom moved, and that was that. Until this morning, he’d thought he’d never see her again. 

She finally stopped in front of a bagel shop, ordering a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese and an iced coffee with an inch of milk before ordering for him two everything bagels with onion cream cheese and a large black iced coffee. There was a part of him that wanted to grumble at her for ordering him an iced coffee, but a part of him that thought of the simplicity of her knowing his bagel and coffee order. How many mornings had this Jughead spent getting bagels and coffee with her?

They stopped at the park across the street from their new apartment, settling into a bench to eat their breakfast. He didn’t want to let go of her hand even to eat, unsure of when he’d actually wake up from this dream. Everything about her seemed so real: the sparkle in her eyes, the warmth of her hand, the way her vanilla-scented shampoo attacked him when he kissed her forehead. 

But it couldn’t, it couldn’t be real. 

In reality, Betty Cooper lived in New York, while he lived in Riverdale. She wrote for the New Yorker, he managed a floundering bar. She had a college education, he’d only finished two semesters of community college. In reality, they weren’t together, sitting on a park bench eating bagels after having a lazy morning of sleeping in, and… 

No, this had to be a dream. 

What kind of sick dream was this though, that Betty insisted on unpacking their apartment? The way the boxes were labeled, often in his own handwriting, made him wonder how many other apartments they’d packed and unpacked together, obviously this was not the first time they’d lived together. In this dream world, had he followed her to New York, getting an apartment together after her mandatory freshman year on-campus housing? Had they spent the last five years together, packing and unpacking boxes?

In one of the boxes he’d unpacked, he found his laptop bag. Oddly enough, it was the exact same as the one that was currently sitting beside his desk at the Whyte Wyrm. 

While Betty was in the shower, having declared enough of the unpacking done for one day, he opened his Google docs, pulling open a new file. Bullet pointing, he made a list of the entire day, including Betty’s bagel order, how it’d felt to wake up to her mouth, and the address of the apartment they were currently living in. Maybe this wasn’t a dream, maybe he’d continue living in this alternate reality with Betty Cooper, ignoring all of the years that had passed between them, or maybe, he’d wake up tomorrow, alone on his cot in his office, and he’d vow to find her again. Maybe when he did, she would still be living here, still at this address with the half-unpacked boxes across from the city park. 

Despite the kitchen being unpacked, Betty insisted on ordering Chinese, stating they had to find all of their new favorite places in their new neighborhood, and why not start now.  _ Why not start now. _

Full of a mix of sweet and sour chicken and General Tso’s chicken, along with an overabundance of crab rangoon and egg rolls, they curled next to each other on the couch, watching Supernatural again on Netflix. Her head sank further into his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his waist as she stretched her legs out beside him. He knew after a full day of unpacking boxes she’d be asleep in minutes, even without the combination of Chinese food and Supernatural that had always lulled her to sleep in high school. 

“Come on, Betts,” he tugged her hand gently as he slid out from underneath her, carefully lifting her up from the couch. “I think I owe you for all of your hard work today…”

He wasn’t sure what would happen when he went to sleep. If when he woke, he’d be back on his cot in the Wyrm, or if she’d still be wrapped in his arms. 

What he did know for certain was that he had been Betty Cooper’s again and she had been his, and he fully intended to savor the moment. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead is still confused

He stretched and groaned as his eyes began to flutter open, a sense of panic washing over him that maybe, just maybe, he’d wake up in his office at the Whyte Wyrm. That maybe the events of the day before had really only been a dream, and that he’d actually spent the day before running errands and cleaning his bar. 

But no, his right arm was again weighed down as he tried to move. His eyes darted in that direction, his body almost breathing a sigh of relief at the long blonde hair that lay spread out before him. He kissed her head softly, and she arched her back into him. 

_ Into him _ . Because of course, even in his dream reality Jughead Jones woke up with a raging erection for Betty Cooper. 

He ran his hands down her waist, across her chest, down her stomach, and she sighed again as she leaned back further into him.  _ Further into him _ . Like there was any possible way she could get any closer to him. Her hand reached back to grasp at his hair as he slipped a hand between her legs. The sun caught the diamond on her hand, glittering and sparkling and nearly blinding him. 

_ Betty Cooper was wearing a wedding ring. _

A moment of panic washed over him, as he quickly glanced down to where his fingers were slowing moving inside of her, catching a glimpse of a simple silver band on his own left hand. Whatever dream reality this was today, Betty Cooper was his wife. 

And she had somehow managed to reach a hand back to wrap around his length, while simultaneously pushing her backside into him again. 

What was the saying -  _ happy wife, happy life? _

They spent the remainder of their morning just like that, tangled and twisted in the sheets. He’d taken her again and again in ways he never had in high school, not wanting to waste this chance. Watching her face come undone over and over — while she sat atop him, while she stared up at him, while she watched herself in the mirror, those images would be ingrained in his memory forever. Even if tomorrow he woke up on his cot in his office at the Wyrm, he’d always have the memory of Betty’s face when she reached completion. 

_ His wife.  _

Hours later, exhausted after another round in the shower, he’d offered to let her sleep while he ventured out to find breakfast. This apartment was not the same as the one he’d woken up in yesterday, this neighborhood was new. He wasn’t entirely sure where this new neighborhood was. Clearly, they were still in the city, but geographically he was lost. He noted the address of the apartment before he left, wandering the blocks for almost an hour before finding a bagel shop. 

He ordered their usual, two everything bagels with onion cream cheese, a black iced coffee (ok, he had to admit, the one he’d had the day before was really good), a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese, and an iced coffee with an inch of milk. Walking back, he passed a floral shop, purchasing a bouquet of lilacs and tulips. 

Back at the apartment, he rummaged around the kitchen until he found a vase, adding water before placing the flowers inside. He could hear the water running in the shower, figured his  _ wife _ had finally woken up, so he took the time to study their apartment. 

This one was more lived-in than the last. Pictures on the wall depicted their lives together. A trip to Chicago standing in front of the Bean. One of them with Archie, in what appeared to be Nashville where he knew reality Archie lived. A picture from their wedding day, Betty in a form-fitting but flared simple gown, him in a classic blue suit. Whatever this life was, this dream or this reality, they were happy. Her smile radiated in all of the pictures, he could almost hear the laughter in her voice. 

The shower shuts off a few moments later, just after he’d finished saving this new address into his Google Docs. He still wasn’t trusting of this new reality, still terrified that he’d wake up tomorrow on his cot in the Wyrm. She stepped out into the living room, wrapping her arms around him from behind, and he breathed in her freshly showered smell. Something so uniquely Betty Cooper,  _ Betty Jones now,  _ he reminded himself _ . _

“Juggie, you bought me flowers!” Her voice squealed as she rushed to the counter, bending to smell the bouquet he’d brought back. Add her ass in those short black shorts to the list of things Jughead didn’t want to forget about this day. “Did you remember to grab some boxes from the storage unit downstairs?”

_ Boxes? _

Boxes. More of those damn moving boxes consumed his afternoon. This time, instead of unpacking, they seemed to be packing this apartment. Why couldn’t he manage to wake up on a normal lazy Saturday, and spend the day lazily in bed making love to his wife? Why did every day in this new dream/reality seem to involve moving boxes of some sort? 

Moving boxes, because as Betty reminded him after they’d brought a stack up from their storage unit in the basement, the movers would be here in the morning. He tried not to grumble at her, tried to be thankful for any day spent with Betty, in any form, but truthfully, he’d rather be spending time with her doing anything BUT packing boxes. 

It was just before six in the evening, when Betty suggested they take a load to the townhouse, less to move tomorrow, she’d said. Slowly, box by box, they trekked to the elevator and across the street to the parking garage, where he was surprised to find his same blue truck. He’d been driving the truck since high school, and sure, sometimes it struggled to start and sometimes the heat didn’t work or the windows wouldn’t roll down, but it still ran, and it wasn’t like reality Jughead had a lot of disposable income to afford a new truck. But maybe this Jughead did, since he seemingly could afford to buy a townhouse in Brooklyn, and the ring on his wife’s hand was not small. 

His hand gripped hers tightly as he drove across the bridge. Okay, maybe he was irritated with waking up in a dream/reality where he had to pack boxes again, maybe there were a thousand other ways he’d have liked to spend the day with her then once again moving, but the truth was, he’d pack and unpack boxes for the rest of his life if it meant he woke up next to Betty Cooper.

_ Betty Jones. _

The townhouse must have cost at least a million, if not more. Settled on a quiet tree-lined street, he parked the truck in front of the lot the GPS had suggested. Three stories of dark tan brick greeted him, a  _ Welcome Home, Jones’ _ sign hanging on the red front door. In whatever reality or dream today was, the Jones’ were not hurting financially, not in the way that the Jughead who was barely hanging on to the Wyrm was. 

The inside foyer was done in a solid white with dark wood trim, real hardwood flowing throughout. A large brick fireplace monopolized the living room space, but the full floor to ceiling windows opened the space. He set the first box he’d carried in down, walking further into the townhouse. 

_ What in the world do they do to afford this place? _ Forget waking up next to Betty Cooper, this townhouse was a dream. 

The kitchen flowed into the dining room, black marble countertops, and a kitchen island. The house was dark, with the dark wood and the black marble, but the white walls and the windows lightened everything up. Off of the dining room, he noticed a patio door. Not a large space, they were still in Brooklyn, but a small patterned tiled cement area, with small green shrubs lining the sides. 

Wandering further through the townhouse, he counted 3 bedrooms, including the massive master bedroom with the attached full bath and walk-in closet, as well two more full baths and a half bath. 

_ What do they do that they could afford a place like this?  _ Afraid to actually ask Betty, in fear of giving away the fact that he had no idea what he did for a living in this reality, he decided to just continue going through the motions. Eventually, maybe one day he’d wake up on a Monday, and he could jokingly feign weekend-exhaustion and ask her where he worked, but for now. For now, he had a beautiful wife in a beautiful, empty townhouse in Brooklyn that was just begging to be christened. 

He would have to wait a little longer on the christening part, helping her carry in the remainder of the boxes before ordering a pizza. He listened to her as she gave the delivery driver the new address, adding it down on his Google Docs app on his phone, which was now more of an address book than a daily play-by-play. 

Hopefully, if he ever woke up back in his reality and not in this dream world, his Google Docs would still be the same as they are here. 

There was no fight over if pineapple belonged on pizza or not, one large deep dish supreme and one large deep dish hawaiian, because apparently after the years they’d been together, she’d memorized his pizza order as well. They sat on the living room floor in front of the fireplace, drinking Coke straight from the 2 liter, surrounded by pizza boxes and a pile of napkins. 

_ This right here,  _ he thought,  _ this is how it should always have been.  _ Just the two of them, a mess of takeout and moving boxes. The house was empty, no furniture or bed had been brought over with the first load of boxes, but his stealthy wife had managed to slip a few blankets and pillows into one box, enough to make a blanket nest on the living room floor. 

He took her there first. In front of the fireplace, surrounded by pizza boxes and napkins and moving boxes. And then he carried her into the kitchen, where he promptly placed her on the island and knelt before her, his head between her thighs. In the bathroom, after filling the large tub, she’d ridden him before they’d laughed about not having packed towels. She darted quickly into the living room, bringing back a blanket to wrap around them both before she finished him once more in her mouth. He’d then carried her, not bothering with the now-wet-blanket that fell behind them in the bathroom back into the living room, back to their mess of blankets and pillows, where he took her twice more before they both finally collapsed. 

  
Sex with Betty Cooper had always been amazing, but sex with Betty  _ Jones _ was insatiable. He laid there next to her, after exhaustion had overcome her, watching her sleep. He ran his fingers through her hair, trying to memorize every little thing about this Betty. He finally fell asleep, just as the sun was starting to brighten the night sky, praying to whatever god or deity he could think of, for just one more day with her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's authors note is brought to you by my wonderful beta @shrugheadjonesthethird. I've decided rather than a typical AN telling you how thankful I am you're reading and invested in this (which I am, very much so), I'll leave you with a comment that she left while reading through this. 
> 
> "What a way to realize you're married... knuckle deep inside your wife"- Cyd


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Contains puppies

A new day greeted him, bright sunlight shining through the large window beside the bed, and for the first time in two days, Jughead Jones was thankful as he realized he wasn’t waking up on his cot in his office at the Wyrm. No, he opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of the blonde that laid next to him,  _ his wife _ , and he pulled her closer to him, forgetting about the numbness in his right arm that was snuggled underneath her. Whatever dream this was, it was another dream day with Betty.

The more his eyes adjusted to the room around him, the more he realized they were still in the Brooklyn townhouse. Maybe today would not involve moving boxes, maybe today would be lazily spent in their bed, doing all of those things that he liked to do best. Those things were racing through his mind, as he wrapped his arms tighter around his wife, as she settled her head against his chest. He had just started placing kisses in her hair, down her chin, across her neck, and felt her push and sigh against him, when the bedroom door burst open. 

His whole body quickly spun away from his wife, who had moved to sit up further against the pillows. A small mess of blonde curls bounded into the room, jumping quickly up onto the bed. 

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!” The little voice squealed as she jumped around on the bed. “It’s Saturday! It’s bagel day!”

At least in whatever dream reality this was, it was Saturday again, and apparently bagel day. 

“Elliot Cooper Jones. Stop jumping on the bed this instant.” Betty’s voice was stern, but there was laughter on her face as she leaned forward, catching the feet of her daughter and pulling her down to the bed, dragging her up to lay between them. 

Her daughter. He guessed if she was Betty’s daughter, she was also his daughter.  _ His daughter.  _

His daughter had his same unruly curls, but Betty’s unique shade of blonde. She appeared to be about four years old, and was currently wearing a pair of rainbow polka dot pajamas. He couldn’t help himself, he reached up to run his fingers through her blonde curls, before tickling her under her armpits. The little girl squirmed and squealed, her laugher radiating through the room. 

This. 

This was better than waking up to Betty between his legs, or waking up to sex with her, this. 

This was everything. 

In all of his years, he’d never thought he’d have a family. Maybe once, when they were younger, he’d thought that might be a possibility with Betty. But then she’d left, and they’d fallen out of touch. The bar and his novel had taken over his life, and dating had fallen to the wayside. In reality, Jughead was only pushing 25, still had many years ahead of him to find someone and settle down, but he knew, after today, after this dream-reality, he’d never settle down if it wasn’t with Betty. If there wasn’t the dream of little blonde curls named Elliot who laughed like the sun, he didn’t want it. 

“El,” she’d finally settled down, tucked in between both of her parents, “go get dressed, daddy and I will meet you in the living room in fifteen minutes. That’s three dots on the clock, remember?”

“Three dots. Ok. If it gets to four, I’m coming back in here!” He watched her as she bounced out of the room, her blonde curls swinging as she skipped. 

_ His wife _ rolled closer to him, her hand trailing down his arm and across his stomach, teasing at the edge of his pajama pants. “Three dots, Mr. Jones. Whatever shall we do...” Her voice trailed off as he leaned down, covering her mouth with his. 

“I can think of something. And I’ll bet I’ll have you screaming before the first dot.” His fingers quickly sunk into her, pushing the lace of her panties to the side. By the first dot, his wife had come apart around his mouth, and by the second dot, her panties had been ripped completely off in order to quickly make room for  _ him _ . He wanted to savor this moment, to spend time making her fall apart again and again, but the fear of those little blonde curls bouncing back into the room and catching her mother bouncing on his lap brought him to completion right before the third dot on the clock. 

“Well done, Mr. Jones. Now to quickly get dressed before our daughter races back in here.” Betty’s face was flushed and red as she crawled out from under the blankets, looking back to roll her eyes at him as she held up the panties that he’d ripped in half in a hurry to get to her. “You’re buying me a new pair of these, you know.”

He would buy her all the underwear in the world if he got to rip them off of her. 

His body ached in the best way, not in the way that came from moving and packing and unpacking boxes, but from the way that told him he’d probably kept his wife up all night. He rummaged through the drawers in the closet, trying not to be obvious that he didn’t know what he was looking for. The first drawer held lace panties much like the ones that were now in the bathroom trash. The second one held a collection of hosiery and garters, that gave him chills just thinking of his wife wearing those underneath the array of skirts that were hanging before him. 

The third drawer, thankfully seemed to belong to him, a boring selection of grey, white and black socks, all apparently the same brand. He grabbed a black set, before moving on toward the back wall, where he could see suits and shirts hanging up. Whatever he did for work, it appeared he occasionally wore a suit. Upon close inspection, there was also a healthy amount of sweaters mixed in, some casual chinos in a variety of colors. Seeing that it was Saturday, he selected a pair of jeans, before digging again through the drawers beneath what was clearly his section of the closet, trying to find a simple t-shirt to wear. 

“Jug,” her voice was almost angelic as she peered around the corner of the closet. She wore a simple pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, her hair down in loose waves that looked perfectly messed and perfectly put together. “There’s a little one in the living room who’s jumping around singing the  _ bagel day _ song.”

“I’ll be right there, promise.” His hand finally settled on soft cotton, pulling out a plain black t-shirt and pulling it over his head. He slipped his feet into a pair of Converse he’d found buried under a pile of probably dirty shirts in the corner of his closet, feeling something that was comforting and familiar. 

Hand in hand, the small three-person-family walked down the block, clearly in the direction of a bagel place, since that was the only thing Elliot could talk about. Sure, she bumbled about the park and her friend Coby at day-care, which meant that either both him and Betty had day jobs, or they’d opt to send their daughter to day-care during the day purely for socialization. El cooed at the small puppy they passed, a little labrador that kept tugging on his leash to get closer to the little girl. But she kept returning to the cinnamon bagel with honey cream cheese she was going to get, and ‘ _ maybe please could she get a chocolate milk?’ _

Jughead smiled as he listened to Betty tell her if she was good on the walk there, and held one of their hands at all times, maybe she could get a chocolate milk. He knew there was no way he wasn’t buying her the chocolate milk. If he only had today with her, if he woke up tomorrow on that cot in his office in Wyrm, he wanted to have the best day full of memories with her. 

As the doorbell to the bagel shop chimed as they walked in, the barista behind the counter smiled. “Happy Saturday, Jones’!”

Apparently, every Saturday was bagel day. 

Jughead walked to the counter to place their usual order, as Betty and Elliot settled into a booth by the window. The look on the little girls face when he came back carrying an iced coffee with an inch of milk, a black iced coffee and a chocolate milk, was priceless. 

“See mommy, I told you daddy would get me a chocolate milk!” 

“Yes, El. It’s because daddy’s a pushover.”

“What’s a pushover, daddy?”

“It means I’d do anything for my two favorite girls.”

“Anything? Like, buy me a puppy?”

He looked across the table at his wife as her eyes widened and she shook her head. Maybe that was a conversation for another day, and his heart sunk a little as he realized there might not be another day. 

The last few days had felt like a dream to him, but each day when he’d woken up, time had passed. It wasn’t like tomorrow when he woke up, if he still woke up next to Betty, that it’d be tomorrow in this dream-reality. Maybe tomorrow when he woke up, it’d be five years later and there would be another little one racing into their bedroom. Or maybe tomorrow, he’d be back at the Wyrm. The thought of a tomorrow without Betty, without Elliot even, made his heart freeze.

No, he wanted this. Maybe more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, he wanted this life. Lazy mornings in bed with Betty, listening to the sweet laughter of his daughter. He couldn’t lose this, not after finally finding something he’d thought he’d never have. 

They walked a different way after leaving the coffee shop, ending in a small park. El immediately took off running for the swings, screaming for Betty to push her higher and higher. He sat back on a bench, watching them, watching his two girls as they laughed and played. El jumped from the swing, racing towards the playset with the large, twirly slide. Betty disappeared behind her, and for a moment, it was just him. Alone on a park bench. 

He sat there a little longer, his eyes darting back and forth between the playset and the surrounding area, before he noticed it. A small shop, just to the left of the park entrance. How many times had they walked to this exact park, walked past that shop, and had Elliot asked the question she had earlier. He caught Betty’s eye as she peeked her head out of the playset, nodding his head in the direction of the park’s restrooms. She smiled at him before disappearing again into the playset, and he took that as his chance to head off towards the shop just left of the park entrance. 

Pushing through the doors, he was instantly overwhelmed. Directly in the main aisle of the shop, was a large rounded cardboard display, with eight tiny, crawling and sleeping puppies. Before he had reached his hand in to scoop up one of the small white and black speckled dogs, he was greeted by a shop worker. 

“She finally worked you over, didn’t she?”

Apparently, in this dream-reality, El frequently dragged him into this shop. He’d been correct in his assumption that this was where she’d gotten it in her head that she wanted a puppy. 

“That she did. Figured she’s only young once…” Figured he was only guaranteed one day with her. Tomorrow when he woke up, all of this might be gone. If his daughter wanted a puppy, his daughter was getting a puppy. Today. 

The tiny puppy was tucked under his arm, wiggling to get free, as he crossed the street back over towards the park. Betty and Elliot had moved from the playset back towards the swings, and both mother and daughter were swinging back and forth together. However, as soon as his little girl saw him, she instantly jumped from the swings, running towards him as fast as her little legs could carry her. 

“Mommy, mommy, look! Daddy stole a puppy!” 

“Oh no, El. Daddy didn’t steal the puppy. Daddy bought the puppy, for you.” He was right. The look on her face when he placed the small dog on the ground was worth all of the wrath from Betty he knew he would endure. And he would do it all over again, tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, just to hear his little girl squeal as the puppy bounded over her feet and between her legs. 

“Daddy, is he for me?” 

“Yes, daddy, is he for El?” 

He wasn’t entirely sure how to categorize the look on Betty’s face as she looked up at him. Something between anger and exaltation, because despite her protests earlier, he knew Betty Cooper had a soft spot for puppies, or small animals in general. 

In high school, when he’d inherited Hot Dog after his initiation into the Serpents, Betty had insisted on twice daily walks, a monthly grooming and training classes for the dog. And he was always allowed to sleep by her feet whenever she stayed over at the small trailer he shared with his father. 

“He is. I thought I needed to even out the male/female ratio in our house…” He watched, as El sat on the ground, the small pup climbing over her, listening to her laughter as the dog nibbled her ear. 

“He’s perfect, Jug,” his wife whispered in his ear, “but you owe me when we get home. I specifically said no just last week.” A chill ran down his spine as he caught the look in her eye, almost glazed and black as she leaned up to kiss his cheek. 

“Oh, I can think of many ways to claim my punishment…”

“Daddy, did you name him yet?”

“No, sweetie. I thought you would like to.”

After a second stop at the pet store, to purchase much needed puppy supplies and an assortment of toys that El insisted Bagel needed, the now slightly larger family of four made their way back to their townhouse. 

Bagel happily played on the back patio all afternoon with his new older sister. The two had seemingly invented this game almost like tag, where El would run from the puppy until she was knocked over, laughing and squealing each time she lost and the puppy nuzzled her ear, smothering her face in kisses. 

He watched from the kitchen window as he helped Betty prepare the vegetables for chicken kabobs on the grill, and wondered briefly if teaching his dog that knocking his daughter down as a way of playing wasn't a good idea. Maybe if tomorrow came and he was still here, in this same dream-reality, he’d work on training, but for today. For today he found he’d rather listen to the laughter of his daughter as she got tackled again and again. 

He was dreading tomorrow, as the day grew into night. He wanted nothing more than to stay here, in this day, in this dream-reality and live out the rest of his days. The past two days, however, told him he’d probably wake up tomorrow in a new dream-reality. Maybe El would still exist, maybe she would have a little brother or sister, or maybe he’d wake up alone on his cot in the Wyrm. 

After watching Moana, for what was apparently the 300th time, he offered to give El a bath and get her ready for bed, laughing along with her when she insisted Bagel needed a bath, too. The bathroom was a disaster area by the time they were done, soap and bubbles and dog hair plastered all over the walls, but he’d do it all over again just to hear his little girl laugh. He wrapped her tightly in her towel, an attempt to dry her off before she took off running for her bedroom, squealing about her Christmas pajamas, despite the fact that it was clearly a summer month. 

He’d asked El to pick out a book for him to read, but she’d brought him back six. He snuggled up beside her in her bed, reading her each of the stories, even after she’d fallen asleep. Her arm was draped over his, her blonde curls spilling over onto his chest, Bagel tucked in tightly at her feet. 

It was there that Betty found him a few hours later, still curled beside his daughter in her bed, running his fingers through her curls. 

“You know, Jug, she’s still going to be there when you wake up tomorrow.” 

_ No, she wouldn’t.  _ Not like today. Maybe if he woke up still in this dream-reality, she would still be here, but maybe she’d be older, not as innocent. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow to a teenage El, or to El on her wedding day, having missed her entire life and all the days in between. Or maybe he’d wake up tomorrow, and this would all have been a dream. He’d be alone and cold in his office at the Wyrm, having not spoken to or seen Betty in almost five years, left only with the dream memories of the last three days. 

He slowly and carefully slid his arm from under his daughter and out of her bed, leaning down to kiss her forehead once, and then twice, running his fingers through her curls once more before pulling her blanket up further, tucking her in around the sides. 

He turned back towards his wife, who was still leaning against the doorframe.  _ His wife. _

  
Tomorrow, if he woke up alone on his cot in the Wyrm, he’d at least have today, tonight, and the memories of the  _ punishment _ his wife had promised him.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek. Ever have a day where you go "Maybe I'll just post the next chapter now? No, I'll have plenty of time later after my appointment..." and then everything falls apart and you end up on bed rest for a week? Yeah, that was my Friday. Thanks to the ladies of Discord and those of you on Tumblr who checked in with me. Much appreciated.
> 
> Beta love as always to @shrugheadjonesthethird


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kleenex are not required but strongly recommended.

He didn’t need to open his eyes the following morning to know. There was a chill that ran up his spine, and his back ached in a way that he knew. He just knew. He knew that the last three days had been nothing more than a dream, despite how real it had felt. How real it had felt to hold Betty in his arms, to feel her move underneath him, to watch her face as she fell apart. The laughter of Elliot, her squeals as Bagel chased her through the house, even the small dogs  _ bark _ had all seemed so real. He’d touched them and held them.

They had been real. 

He felt the tears start to well in his eyes, and yet, he still didn’t open them. Maybe if he just laid here with his eyes closed, he’d fall back asleep and wake up warm in the bed he’d shared with Betty. 

A knock on his door pulled him out of his dream, away from the warmth of Betty’s arms, the laughter of his daughter. 

Toni’s voice called from the other side of the door, something about some sort of problem with the delivery. 

“Tell him I’ll be right there, Toni.” He groaned, pushing himself off of the cot, reaching for a pair of jeans and tugging on a t-shirt as he made his way towards the door.

What had felt like the last three days, had all been a dream. A sick and twisted dream of what his life could have been had he chosen to chase after Betty, Instead, his reality was a delivery that he desperately needed but could only pay for half, and a notice from Mayor McCoy that the remainder of his rent was due by the end of the week. He tried to go through the motions, cleaning and stocking the bar before opening, but when he brought the mail inside after the two patrons that had come in for the lunchtime rush had left, an envelope with a bright red stamp across the front fell out onto the pavement. 

_ Final Notice. _

The bar had been  _ gifted _ to him from his father, as a consolation prize for choosing to stay in Riverdale. He’d taken a few classes at the local community college in business management and hospitality, getting a grasp on backend things like accounting and overhead, but his heart had never truly been in the bar. The bar was more of a means to an end, a shelter to keep him warm while he finished his novel. 

For the first few years, the bar business had been solid, but sometime along the way in the last three years, slowly things had gone downhill. He’d set aside savings during the good years, enough to cover things for a while, but that cushion fund had long ago ran out. 

After Toni closed the bar and brought him the ledger from the night, he sat down, calculating and recalculating figures in his head and on the computer. He hadn’t even brought in enough tonight to pay his staff, his staff that on a slow Sunday night only consisted of Toni and a waitress, Alison. He checked the numbers again, for the fifth time, like he did every night. 

It wasn’t that money was disappearing somewhere, it was just not coming in. Sales had been low for months, years even. The formerly seedy reputation of a motorcycle bar kept residents of the Northside away, and most of the Southside was struggling equally as much as he was. Eating out, much less spending money on alcohol, was a rare occasion. No, it wasn’t that tabs were being unpaid, there just weren’t enough tabs. 

That night, when he crawled under the thin blanket on his cot in his office, he dreamed of waking up back in her arms, back in her world. Back in a world with Betty Cooper by his side, where the bar wasn’t going under, where he wasn’t going to be homeless and jobless by the end of the month, after having to sell his  _ legacy _ he’d inherited from his father. 

There were no dreams that night though. There was no sleep. He laid there, on his cot, restless and stirring for the better part of the night, until finally he’d given up and conceded to work on his novel. When he opened his computer though, he was greeted by a new Google doc, a list of addresses to places he’d only ever been in his dreams. 

Places that seemed to haunt him over the next several days, as he seemingly went through the motions. Calls to Mayor McCoy, who years ago had provided financial backing to keep the bar afloat, calls to the electrical company and his suppliers, calls to Toni and Alison. 

A part of him felt like he was conceding defeat as he sat at a table toward the back with Major McCoy on Monday, over a full week after he’d dreamed of  _ her _ , but there was also a part of him that felt  _ free.  _ Free of what his dad had forced on him all those years ago, free to pursue his writing, free to chase after her to New York. Free to find that life he’d dreamed about. 

He flourished his signature over the pages Mayor McCoy presented him, signing over the remainder of the bar to the Bank of Riverdale. What was left of his savings, and the small amount he’d make in the sale would go to paying off the utility balance and leave him with just enough for a tank of gas. The ink was still drying on the final signature when he heard the barroom door open, bright sunlight breaking into the darkness of the barroom. 

“We’re closed today...” his voice trailed off as he pushed himself away from the table, away from the documents and the bar that had monopolized his life for the last five years. 

“Then maybe you should have locked the door, Jug.” He’s still blinded by the sunlight, the door hasn’t yet closed, but he’d know her voice anywhere. 

She’s standing there, light beaming in behind her. She’s here, standing in his  _ former _ bar, and he can’t move his feet in her direction. He’s frozen as he watches the door finally close behind her, finally letting him view the girl he’s dreamed about, for the first time in five years. 

Her hair is longer, her usual ponytail replaced with tousled waves and when she steps closer, because he’s still frozen in place, there’s a hint of red mixed in with the green of her eyes. 

She stops just in front of him, barely three feet away, but he still can’t move to close that distance between them. Dream Jughead would have already scooped her into his arms, planting kisses down her cheeks as he spun her in circles, but reality Jughead is frozen and awkward. 

He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything, is still staring at her, when Mayor McCoy gathers up the papers from the table, and tells him their finished, and she’ll let him know if she needs anything else. He’s still frozen while she hugs Betty, telling her it’s great to see her again, and then again that bright sunlight is glaring into the dark bar, and then he’s alone. Standing in front of her, still frozen, still not saying anything. 

“Jug?” He looks up, or maybe he realizes he’s never stopped looking at her, and she’s rocking back and forth on her feet, her hands tugging on the sleeves of her sweater. She’s nervous, not a usually Betty Cooper characteristic. 

“Betty Cooper. You are a sight for sore eyes.” 

He’s not sure where that line came from, but the smile she beams up at him melts his feet and he’s finally moving in her direction. Closer and closer, until his arms instinctively wrap around her waist, pulling her into him. He hears her release a sigh as her head nestles into his chest and he leans down, resting his chin on her head and breathing her scent in. It’s just like in his dreams, that same soft vanilla shampoo dream Jughead had found in her shower. 

They settle across from each other at the same table he’d recently occupied with Mayor McCoy. There’s an awkward silence that passes between them, before he finally breaks it. 

“I’d offer you something to drink, but I actually just sold everything.”

“You sold the bar?” 

“I sold the bar. Looks like packing boxes are in my future, I’ve got to be out by the end of the week.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I haven’t worked all of that out yet. I’ve got enough for a tank of gas, figured I’d drive until I ran out and work on finally finishing my novel.” He paused for a moment, sitting back further in her seat and taking her in. Maybe this was the dream, and he would wake up tomorrow, sleeping in his truck alone like she hadn’t came back to Riverdale. “Why are you really here, Betty?”

He watches as she picks at the grey polish on her nails, at least it’s a better habit than curling her nails into her palms. 

“I know I should have called… but when I switched to just a company phone I lost most of my contacts… You’re going to think this is crazy, but I just had… I just had to see you.” She’s rambling and her hands are shaking, and in all the years he’s known Betty Cooper, he’s never seen her so uncomposed. He reaches across the table, uncurling her hands from the napkin she’s shredding and curling his fingers around hers, steadying her. 

“Betty?”

“The other night, I had these really weird dreams. They felt so real, like another reality almost. And then I woke up and it was gone. You were gone.”

“I was gone?”

“Well, yeah. You were there.”

“Did these dreams by any chance contain moving boxes and bagels?”

“And a puppy. And…”

“And El.”

“You had them too? 

“She’s so beautiful, Betts. Her laughter…”

“I know, she was pretty perfect, wasn’t she?” 

“So, you came here to tell me about the dreams you had?”

“Well, and… I guess I wanted to see if we made a mistake. If we should have fought harder.”

“If we should see if there’s anything left?” His fingers trace circles across her knuckles and he realizes it’s now his hands that are trembling. Those dreams, El, everything that had seemed so real, she’d dreamt it too. And now, she sat across from him, questioning if maybe they could turn those dreams into a reality. “Betty… I… I sold the bar. I have my truck, a tank of gas, a duffle bag full of clothes and a half written novel. That’s it. That’s my life. I can’t give you all the beautiful things you deserve. Everything from those dreams.”

“Jug. I’m not… I got cut from the New Yorker, I waitress on the weekends and the only reason I can afford a townhouse in Brooklyn is because of the money from the Blossom settlement. I’ve got a little, but that’s it. That’s all I have.” 

“It’s been a long day and I’m getting hungry. What do you say we head to Pop’s and talk this over some more?”

He pulled her into him after they’d both stood up from the table, breathing in her scent again. In his dreams, it’d seemed so real he was sure it was reality, but this. This was real. She was here, with him now, asking him to try and find their dreams together. He dropped a kiss on her forehead, hearing a soft whimper of a breath as she relaxed into him further. 

“Pop’s sound good, but I saw a new bagel place on my way through town…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a little fic that came to me in a dream, I'm thrilled so many of you have enjoyed this. I really truly hope this ending did the hype justice. Thank you for all of the love, comments, kudos and support during this confusing and intriguing journey. 
> 
> All of the beta love to @shrugheadjonesthethird


End file.
